


Windows Down

by prosceniumarch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, First Time, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9915317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosceniumarch/pseuds/prosceniumarch
Summary: “How far are we planning on going here?” Bucky says, almost coy.Steve’s chest goes to ice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A brief warning: this is a fic about virginity and the mild anxiety of losing it. Just to bear in mind if that's a thing that makes you go : ~ /
> 
> as always, comments make me cry very much. thank you for reading! ♡

Steve wonders if the fumbling of his fingers betray more of the truth than he wants to give away.

Moments ago, Bucky had rocked back onto his heels, had looked at the shirt Steve had been wearing and had asked, through glistening lips, “Take this off?” It had been a question, not a demand. It had meant this: Steve could’ve said no, if he’d have wanted to, and he had. He had wanted to say no, that is, because Bucky had given him the chance to shake his head, and say it. He’d thought of it; of crawling back into himself like he had wanted, of righting his hair, tucking his shirt back in, and of shrugging his jacket back onto his shoulders and just getting the hell out of there.

But he’d thought of Bucky’s hands, too, and the way they had slipped across his hips under his shirt, and the jolts of heat that his fingertips had lent themselves to.

And Steve’s decision had been made, just like that, and his fingers had come to the buttons on his chest.

Before even that, there had been the party, and the flirting, and the first fumbled kissing somewhere between drinks three and five. The taxi journey home, too, and the way Steve’s fingers had twitched against Bucky’s palm, nervous and excited both at the same time. Even before that, for months, there had been a sort of building. A sort of longing between them, captured in glances through eyelashes and covert, private smiles. In the distant past, there had been growing up together and growing apart, and then growing together again.

To now, Bucky’s gaze heavy at Steve’s naval where Steve’s fingers work clumsily at the buttons of his shirt. Steve watches Bucky watching him, and feels suddenly electric at the way Bucky’s world has centred down to the steady undoing of his shirt.

The last button falls open, and Bucky’s right hand comes forward to rest on his sternum. Steve thinks, briefly, that Bucky must be able to feel his pulse, and then he is being kissed again.

He thinks that this is the most intoxicating form of fear. He is here, laid out bare, and Bucky can see him, and Bucky seems to like it. The power of that, too – the way Steve could make Bucky’s face _do_ that, how Steve could make Bucky look at him as if he was something _special_.

And yet – And yet. Steve thinks – is this normal? He just – he can’t stop thinking about the way his body must look to Bucky. It’s the strangest sort of dread. He thinks Bucky must see something other than what he can, or maybe he sees Steve as Steve sees himself, but _likes_ it, somehow. Both are just as scary.

Bucky is looking at him through hooded eyes, half awed and half _beautiful_. Beyond the anxiety, Steve feels full with it. So absolutely, irrevocably full with it. Bucky’s hair is so dark where it falls against the flush of his cheek. God, the colour on his cheek alone is stunning.

Bucky moves above him, shifting so their legs run parallel. Steve realises, suddenly, that Bucky is hard, or at least on his way there.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks, shifting away a little. Steve nods, almost dumb with it. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he kisses Bucky again, feeling the desperation in it.

Bucky pulls away again. His face has gone slack. “How far are we planning on going here?” He says, almost coy.

Steve’s chest goes to ice.

It feels like standing on the edge of a precipice. For a moment, Steve imagines throwing himself off – imagines saying yes. He imagines his hands on Bucky’s belt buckle, and Bucky’s fingers working the fly of his jeans open, but his chest twists with anxiety even as Bucky places a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips, waiting. He imagines himself _properly_ bare, naked on Bucky’s bed – it’s too much, suddenly. He doesn’t feel bold enough for that, and he doesn’t think he could keep his insecurities at bay enough to enjoy it. He doesn’t think he’s ready, to give himself up like that. Not for the first time.

“I don’t – I don’t know how comfortable I am.” He explains, looking down at himself. His cheeks feel warm.

Bucky’s fingers come away from his collarbone. “I can stop.” He says, already moving to roll over, but Steve intercepts him so they’re facing each other again.

“No – no, this is good.” He promises, “I… I like this.”

“Okay.” Bucky says, but he doesn’t try to kiss him again.

Steve tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “But you can – you, uh.” _Kiss me_ , he wants to say.

Bucky doesn’t move. Steve feels caught up in the way he’s being looked at, feels pinned down. Bucky sees something in him. It’s obvious in the way he’s looking down at him. He _wants_ him. The weight of that – Steve can’t quite explain it.

“What do you want?” Bucky says, still patient.

Something seems to shift. _You_ , Steve thinks. _You_. But still, there’s that discomfort. He feels paralysed by it.

“I’m not–” Steve tries to say. His hips stutter, just slightly. The brief noise that Bucky makes is enough to make his whole body feel hot. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Bucky says. “Alright.” His hand moves from Steve’s side, slowly, down to just above the waist of his jeans. “Just – stop me if you want?”

Steve knows he could. He knows he could say no, if he wanted to. He also knows that he’s gotten himself into this, with intent. That he wants this more than he doesn’t. He wants this so much. He wants Bucky to –

“I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to do.” Bucky says, gently.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, honestly. He thinks of the precipice, again, and imagines throwing himself off. It’s Bucky, he thinks. It’s Bucky, no one else. If he were any less…

 _Okay_ , Steve thinks. _Okay, alright. Good-bye virginity._

He takes the leap. The swan dive. Bucky kisses him back.

 

* * *

 

 Steve wakes up slowly. Beside him, the bed is empty, but Bucky hasn’t gone far.

Steve opens his eyes.

At the foot of the bed, the window is swung open, the morning breeze carding its through the netting of the shut curtains.

And through them, Bucky’s figure in silhouette, a cigarette between his lips. Steve lies, stock still, watching the way Bucky’s head tilts back, and the long, delicate planes of his neck working on his exhale. He watches the rivulets of smoke drifting around his head, spectral in the hazy sunrise. He’s put on some underwear, but, otherwise, is naked.

Steve thinks, _God_.

He looks beautiful. A painting.

He doesn’t even need to think about it. When Bucky gets back into bed, Steve kisses him again.

The second time around, the leap doesn’t feel even nearly as scary.

 

* * *

 

There is still the shape of where they laid together on Bucky’s bed; the indent of their bodies, a single handprint in slightly twisted sheets.

They look at the imprint, together, dressing in silence. Steve feels… Vaguely sheepish, actually. The sheets are a pretty lurid reminder. Not safe for work at all.

 _Whatever_ , he thinks. He doesn’t regret a thing.

“Hey,” Bucky says, dressed except for the fly of his pants which is still down, “You want breakfast?”


End file.
